


The First Duty of A Soldier Is Obedience

by seatbeltdrivein



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Community: springkink, D/s, F/M, Femdom, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pegging, Restraints, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-21
Updated: 2011-04-21
Packaged: 2017-10-18 11:26:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seatbeltdrivein/pseuds/seatbeltdrivein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was just something gratifying about putting Mustang in his place, something that kept her coming back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Duty of A Soldier Is Obedience

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cornerofmadness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cornerofmadness/gifts).



The meeting ran over by fifteen minutes. Olivier didn't mind for once. She took her time. The walk between East City's base and the lodging provided for the Briggs officials was about six blocks. The day was nice, a cool breeze sitting atop East City's usual heat.

"General Armstrong, just the woman I wanted to see!"

Olivier paused and half-turned on the sidewalk. "General Grumman," she said.

The old man grinned at her, one hand raised in greeting. "I was wondering if you could help me locate one of my errant officers."

Olivier turned away. "I wouldn't know anything about that. And I'm afraid I have places to be."

"A busy woman, to be sure!" Grumman's laugh made Olivier's skin crawl. There was something inherently greasy about it. "I look forward to hearing your opinion on the joint training plans for the upcoming spring tomorrow."

Nodding curtly, she continued down the sidewalk. Another minute gone, perhaps two.

The hotel itself was surprisingly nice. She hadn't expected to be treated to such a classy suite, but Grumman had always been a soft old fool.

She startled the bellhop when she stepped into the elevator and briskly ordered that he take her to the third floor. His eyes had fallen to the saber strapped to her side. After a brief hesitation, he scrambled to obey.

Unlocking her suite, she slipped the key back into her pocket and slowly removed her gloves, her jacket. A faint noise filtered out from the bedroom, the door ajar.

"Are you alive?" she asked, stepping into the room and setting her saber against the wall. Mustang was exactly where she'd left him an hour before when she'd left for the meeting, his bare ass high in the air, his hands bound to his ankles. From the doorway, she could see his cock dangling down between his spread knees, flushed and angry red beyond the thick strap reining it in.

Mustang opened his mouth, let out an incoherent groan, and drooled all over the pillow.

Olivier snorted. "As articulate as ever," she said, and walked over to the edge of the bed. His back was incredibly tense, and his naked thighs were straining apart. It was his way of begging without words. He would have to do better.

Reaching over, she ran her hand across his back, her lips curving into a decidedly pleased smile at the way he arched beneath her touch. When she reached the swell of his ass, she squeezed a cheek and abruptly pulled away – only to return a moment later with a _smack_ that seemed to echo. Mustang jerked, and his eyes rolled back.

"Please," he panted. "I've been waiting—"

"Only an hour," she said, rubbing the new red mark with a deceptive gentleness. "And if you're taking that tone with me, I don't think you've learned anything." When she met his wide eyes, she saw agony and arousal and sheer desperation warring on his face. "Or have you?"

He nodded fiercely, his dark hair flopping into his eyes. "Yes," he said breathlessly.

She smacked his ass again, a bit harder than before. "Yes…?"

"Yes, _ma'am_!" he yelped when she raised her hand again.

"That's better," she cooed, kneading his ass, trailing her index finger between his cheeks to play teasingly over the hidden crease. Mustang pushed back, so she pulled away, tutting. She walked to the head of the bed and leaned across the mattress, her hair falling over Mustang's back as she whispered in his ear: "What's the rule, Mustang?"

Mustang's entire body thrummed with restrained desire. "I—have to," he was nearly choking on the words, fixated on the way she ran her tongue along the shell of his ear, "to—to earn it!"

"Very good," Olivier praised. Then she stepped back, arching a brow at Mustang's whine of protest. "Patience," she ordered, nimble fingers undoing the buttons of her blouse. "I'll be with you in a moment." The promise seemed to settle him.

His eyes followed the motion of her hands as she pulled off the plain white button-up, the standard issue bra. Olivier made quick work of her boots, trousers, and underwear, and the moment she was naked, standing with her hands on her hips, Mustang's squirming renewed, his buttocks clenching, and the wiry muscles of his back flexing.

He looked good, all trussed up. Olivier took a moment to congratulate herself on her own good taste before kneeling on the side of the bed. "Are you ready to earn it, Mustang?"

Another enthusiastic nod. His eyes were glazed, his lips swollen and red, the lower one still caught between worrying teeth. Olivier patted his face. Mustang tried to lean into the touch, but he was at too awkward of an angle. It was just as well. She had more in mind. The restraints would have to go.

The moment she undid the ankle to wrist cuffs, Mustang's body started to shake. Now that he had the option to simply go fluid on the bed, the near hour he'd spent in such a strange position seemed to catch up to him. Resting her hand on one of his trembling thighs, Olivier said, "Ask, Mustang."

He glanced back at her, his eyebrows dipping down as he managed to stammer out a nearly incoherent, _please, let me lay down._

In response, Olivier tapped his back, confirmation enough. "Remain here, stomach down, until I return." She didn't wait for him to respond to the order. Mustang knew full well what would happen if he disobeyed again.

He did it enough to know, in any case.

The suite was divided into three areas: the bedroom and bathroom, a kitchenette, and a small sitting room with a telephone. Olivier checked the front door, reassuring herself of the lock. Then she returned to Mustang. He was on his stomach still, but he kept shifting uncomfortably, his erection trapped under him, still swollen and held on edge by the band strapped around its base.

"Mustang!" She barked his name, causing him to start. Olivier was pleased when he didn't turn around, but instead remained prone on the bed. "Come here," she said sharply, and this time, Mustang did look. "The meeting ran late," she added as he stumbled off the bed, nearly falling back down when the head of his cock caught on the sheets. Judging that he was moving a bit too slow, she derailed her train of thought to snap, "Get moving!"

"Yes, ma'am," he muttered, but beneath the sullen tone, Olivier detected a heat in Mustang's words. He was always so easy to read.

"As I was saying," Olivier dropped her voice, "the meeting ran late. I'm starving."

Mustang stared at her for a moment, on his feet and naked in the middle of the bedroom, before he caught on. "You," he licked his lips, his face flushed in a release of pride, "want something to eat?"

"Obviously," she sneered.

"You'd like me to make you something?" he tried again, then hastily added: "Ma'am?"

"Very good. You're not as stupid as I'd thought," Olivier cooed, the patronizing tone darkening Mustang's flush. She pushed the bedroom door open for him, nodding toward the kitchen. "You have ten minutes," she said in a no-nonsense voice. "Get to it."

The kitchen was clearly visible from the sitting room, so when Mustang went to fiddle with something in the cabinet, Olivier sat down in one of the high-backed chairs and watched him. There was just something gratifying about putting Mustang in his place, something that kept her coming back.

When he fumbled with a slice of bread, panic flitting across his face for a brief moment as he glanced back at her, Olivier slung one of her legs over the arm of the chair. She'd been wet the moment she saw him on the bed, writhing and desperate. Now, she was slick enough that when she stroked her thumb over her clit, heat curling in her gut, her finger came away sopping wet.

But as always, she remained the patient one.

Mustang had noticed her idly touching herself and began making ridiculous mistakes, fumbling plates and silverware, stumbling like a buffoon from one end of the kitchen to the other. The ten minutes were nearly up by the time he walked out to the sitting room, his dick no softer for his trouble, and held up a plate.

It was a pathetic excuse for a sandwich, but she'd expected no different from a man who'd never worked a true day in his life before the military. "Set it aside," she ordered. "On that table—yes. Now, how are you feeling, Mustang?"

He stared at her, uncomprehending, so Olivier continued.

"I could go ahead and eat," she suggested. "That might be another ten minutes. And after, I would need to read over the initial plans Grumman laid out in the meeting. That would be another half hour."

Mustang whimpered, his lips a white line.

"So, tell me, Mustang…" She tossed her other leg over the opposite arm, leaving her completely opened to him. "Have you behaved today?"

"I—yes," Mustang sounded like he'd just run drills with her men. "Ma'am, I have." His face was red enough, anyway.

"There's a box," Olivier said. "In the bedroom, beneath the bed. I want you to go get it and bring it to me." She rested one hand low on her stomach, the tips of her fingers just skimming the thicket of wiry blonde hair sitting between her legs. Mustang's eyes followed the movement. " _Now_."

He snapped to attention, disappearing into the bedroom with a startling speed. When he returned, a wooden box was in his hands. She instructed him to set it on the ground at her feet, just to the right of the chair. Mustang obeyed, so she ran a hand through his hair – and forced him down to his knees.

With her legs spread wide, Olivier tilted her hips and said, "If you want to come, you'd better do it well." She tugged at his hair, leaving her fingers buried in silky black strands even as he leaned forward eagerly to nudge her pubic hair with his nose. When she felt the first hint of tongue slide inside her, Olivier allowed herself a pleased sigh.

Mustang's tongue was worth all the gold in her family's vaults. Had it not been for his foolhardy nature and petulant attitude, she'd have requested him a transfer to Briggs in a heartbeat.

"Good boy," she crooned, letting her head fall back and her hand tighten in his hair. Mustang curled his tongue and used his fingers simultaneously, teasing her toward her peak. A rush of heat spiraled in her core and Olivier clamped her thighs down on either side of Mustang's head, urging him on even as sudden shudders wracked her body.

Feeling her muscles release, Olivier relaxed, her feet hitting the ground again and her hand freeing Mustang, who glanced smugly up at her before licking a trail down her thigh.

"Cheeky," she murmured, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look up. "The box," she said. "Give it to me."

Passing it to her, Mustang's hands brushed Olivier's, and she could feel the way they shook. He was barely within the limits of control, nearly over the edge. She ordered him back so that she could stand and remove the contents: a harness and a single black plastic phallus.

Mustang's cock twitched.

"I know this is what you've been waiting for," she said as she slid on the harness and adjusted it to her body. "You'd do anything to get something inside you, wouldn't you? Ridiculous slut."

He was nearly panting, standing at some odd parody of attention, his fists clenched at his side and his eyes trained on her breasts. When she fixed the phallus into the harness, Olivier sat back down, giving it a stroke and smirking. "There's a bottle inside the box," she added. "Make use of it."

And make use of it, he did. Mustang knew how to put on a show. He squeezed a gob of lube into his hands and worked them slick before he got on his knees, facing away, and stretched an arm behind himself. He slid one finger in, groaning loudly.

"Spread yourself open," Olivier ordered. "I want to see it go in you."

Trapped in the heat of the room, in her words, Mustang could only nod, his mouth hanging open and words long since useless to him. With his free hand, he pulled one cheek to the side, exposing the finger he held knuckle-deep inside himself.

Olivier bit her lip, taking in a nearly silent, shuddering sigh before instructing him again: "Add another. I know you can take more than _that_." She was careful to sneer the words.

He shoved in a second finger, nearly toppling to the side in the process. Olivier laughed, loud and cruel.

"Are you having trouble, Mustang?"

He twisted himself to look over his shoulder, his eyes burning as he tried to thrust his fingers in, but he couldn't get the proper depth. "I—can't," he said. "Please, I don't need this!"

"And what do you need?" The bored, studious look on Olivier's face was only possible through practice. Inside, she was ready to shove his face into the ground and fuck him until he screamed.

"You," he said honestly, shamelessly. "I want you to fuck me."

The words set fire to her. Olivier ordered him up. "Come here. Let me feel how ready you are." When he was standing upright, close enough for her to reach around him, she kissed the tip of his cock, swiping up a bead of precum as she abruptly slid three fingers into his ass. Mustang trembled but remained on his feet. "You've been terribly good today," she said, pulling her fingers free and sitting back in the chair. She patted her lap. "Come sit with me."

Mustang knew what she meant. He climbed onto the chair, which had a seat plenty large enough for his knees to rest on either side of her. Reaching back, he grabbed the phallus with one hand and held it steady. Then he met her gaze, waiting for the word.

Olivier nodded. "Get on it," she said, the excitement finally bleeding into her words. "Do it."

Mustang dropped down, the head of the phallus sliding in with ease. He hesitated for a moment, then took it all in one quick slide, his head snapping back and his cock jerking violently against its restraint.

"Fuck yourself on it," Olivier demanded, digging her fingers into his hips. Each time Mustang rose and drove back down, the portion of the phallus inside her would shove deeper, pushing against her already over stimulated flesh and driving her closer to a second peak.

Mustang's face was brick red, and sweat was gathering at his hairline, giving his forehead a shine in the light of the room. The faster he fucked himself on Olivier, the more he pushed his chest out, his nipples hard peaks. One hand still holding onto his hip, Olivier reached up and twisted a hardened nub, the pained groan he gave enough to push her that much closer. It wouldn't take much. She was already rolling her hips to meet his downward thrusts, her eyelids trying to force themselves closed beneath the heady weight of pleasure.

"I have to come," Mustang panted, the words barely coherent beyond his labored breathing. "Let me come!" He hadn't stopped moving, up and down and up and down, and she'd never seen him quite so desperate –

Or hadn't, until the moment she released the band strapped around his cock. Mustang drove down on the phallus, his entire body clamping tight as he wailed, spurting messily across Olivier's chest. The force of his orgasm drove Olivier's body over the edge again, and they rode it out together until they were both hazy from the tremors.

When the pleasure subsided, Olivier found that Mustang was still straining to keep on his knees over her, the phallus still buried in his ass. Kneading his cheeks, she looked pointedly down at the mess on her chest. "You can get down," she said huskily, "once you've cleaned all this up."

Without question, Mustang leaned down and licked a stripe of his own semen from her breasts. Olivier relaxed back into the chair, content to let him work.

It was good to be queen.


End file.
